The Dragons of Westeros
by Lorithomar
Summary: In the continent of Westeros, one kingdom has always remained apart from the others; the Kingdom of Arkhosia, home to strange, draconic races, and inscrutable traditions and gods. But, with the coming of the Red dragon, all would soon change in Westeros' history...
1. Chapter 1

The Dragons of Westeros

Chapter 1

Aegon was feeling impatient. The cold breeze blowing across his face certainly did not help.

When his family had first set foot on Westeros, the Targaryens had heard the stories of this particular kingdom; the Kingdom of Arkhosia.

Many members of the Faith of the Seven decried it as kingdom of monsters and godless heathens and foul magicks. Even the learned maesters of the citadel had little to no desire to travel near the strange kingdom, and had long abandoned all hope of learning anything from the strange kingdom. But, all had heard of its inhabitants, which were claimed to be creatures that walked like men, but were covered in scales, and breathed fire, and could fly through the air. There were stories of how the Andal invasions had been repelled at the kingdom's borders, during what the old stories termed "The Night of Bloody Stars."

Still curious about this kingdom, Aegon had sent forth a messenger across its border to ask for a meeting, confidant that word of his conquests had already reached its rulers.

The messenger had returned, stating that the kingdom's rulers had agreed to a meeting.

That had been over two days ago, and Aegon was starting to get impatient. As were his sisters. As many had learned, when a dragon got impatient, then things started to burn.

"This is beyond ridiculous!" Visenya exclaimed, as she crossed her arms across her ample bosom, apparent even under the many layers of chain, plate and furs that adorned her form. "We should not be forced to wait here like commoners before a lord. We are conquerors, rulers!"

"Patience, sister," Rhaenys said. "There is little that is truly known about this kingdom. Only stories at best. From what has been told, its residents are fiercely isolationist. It would not be wise for us to rush into things in such a foolhardy manner."

Before his sisters could have another of their arguments, one of the camp's lookouts cried out in alarm.

A small force of riders and soldiers were approaching them.

As they drew closer, Aegon could see that they were not mounted on horses, but on large, strange, reptilian beasts.

Closer did they draw.

Closer.

Oddly, it was not the sound of hoofbeats that they heard, for it was not horses that were drawing near. Instead, they looked like some large, muscular lizards, though each seemed to move as quickly as any horse, save that these had sharp spines, fangs, and claws..

Soon enough, the two parties were face to face.

Then the rider's dismounted. To his credit, Aegon kept his composure, though he heard Rhaenys gasp in shock, while Visenya slowly reached for Dark Sister.

The stories were true, it seemed. The residents of this strange kingdom were not human.

The figures looked like the unholy offspring of a dragon and a human. Their bodies were humanoid, save for the fact that they were covered with scales instead of hair, and four clawed fingers and bare clawed feet. Their heads, however, were like those of a dragon's, with large fanged maws, and long ropy tendrils that were like hair. Each one seemed a different color of scale, but all were taller and more muscular than normal men. Scurrying at their feet were smaller versions, at most only two feet tall. Those must have been servants of some sort. All were armed and armored, though their weapons hung at their sides.

The figure at the front dismounted from its growling beast, and calmly walked towards Aegon with a small group of twenty soldiers, all of whom were marching in perfect formation. The rest of the riders and force held back within reach.

The leader, a tall thing with scales of gold, who stood at least two heads above Aegon, scrutinized him with slit eyes of dark blue. Aegon met its gaze without flinching.

Then, it spoke, in a deep voice. "You messenger was not very clear on why you wanted to meet, Aegon Targaryen. This had better not be a waste of my time."

Aegon kept his face impassive. "I am surprised that you know who I am.

"Though that simpering messenger of yours was quick to sing your praises, all here in Arkhosia have heard of the deeds of you, your sisters, and your flying mounts.

"I am pleased that my reputation precedes me. I also see that you speak the common tongue."

"Indeed. Though, I find it to leave a distaste in my mouth. But, what else can be expected, from something crafted by pink-skins?"

Visenya bristled at the disrespect, but Aegon raised a hand to make her pause. "Before we can proceed further, I must know; what are you? Who are you?"

The creature eyed him long and hard. "My name is Vanquisher Arjhian, ruler of the empire of Arkhosia. We are dragonborn, and these are our lands."

Arjhian then snorted. "Enough of these pointless pleasantries. What is it that you want, Aegon Targaryen?"

Aegon decided to get right to the point. "I want you to swear allegiance to me, for your kingdom and all its resources to be mine, to be at my beck and call.., as part of my Seven Kingdoms."

The dragonborn cocked his head at Aegon, as if her were a child. "It would seem that the tales of your arrogance and greed were not exaggerations. But, I expected nothing less, especially from dishonorable curs like yourselves."

"How dare you!?" Visenya exclaimed. "You think us dishonorable?"

"I do. My entire kingdom does." Arjhian retorted. 'All have heard of your great conquest of the Vale. Hiding behind a child. Is that not a grand definition of dishonorable?"

He then focused his gaze upon Aegon, who felt his rage slowly building. "Were you honestly hoping that I would kneel in submission before you? Offer up my kingdom and all its riches to you on a silver platter? If so, then I refuse. This kingdom will not be yours." He punctuated this with a spit upon the ground.

"I could gather my armies, and have my dragons burn down your kingdom to ash and blood," said Aegon, his hand tight upon Blackfyre's hilt. "Would you still be so proud, when all around is but fire and blood?"

To his surprise, Arjhian smirked. "I could ask of you the same thing, Aegon Targaryen."

Suddenly, through the air came mighty screeches. To Aegon's surprise, they sounded like dragons, but... different.

From the sky descended several large and winged creatures. Some looked like slightly smaller dragons, other like the crossbreed between a dragon and a lion. Mounted upon each was an armored dragonborn, all armed with long and sharp lances, ready to skewer.

Aegon and his sisters did not have their dragons near, and their main forces were too far away to reach in time.

They were surrounded. Even as he noted this, Aegon slowly drew Blackfyre. But, by the gods, they would not go quietly.

Arjhian looked over their display of defiance with something approaching respect in his reptilian eyes. "It was foolish of you to believe that you could cow us on the force of your reputation alone, Pink Skin. Utterly foolish. But, as tempted as I am to wipe you from the face of the land, Aegon Tagaryen, it would not be honorable. Besides, you dealt with that fool Hoare. As such, and in thanks for that service, here is what I propose; if you vow to remain out of the affair and borders of my kingdom, then my kingdom shall do the same. All we wish is just to be left alone."

"And why should we accept this offer, or any offer of yours, freak?" Visenya spat, Dark Sister out and open in her hands.

Arjhian snorted as he crossed his steel-clad arms. "Are you three truly prepared to plunge these lands back into fire and bloodshed, so soon after your previous campaigns? Are you three truly that petty, that you would sacrifice so many for being slighted? My people are prepared to die for honor. Cna you say the same about yours, who you took by force? More to the point, are you all that eager to die for your pride?"

Around them, the draconic beasts all tensed and snarled, and the dragonborn soldiers shifted their grips on their weapons. Even the small creatures tensed up.

Aegon considered his options.

His blood sang out for combat, even one such as this, sure to end in defeat and death. But, he had come too far to die now.

Live to fight another day. It would not be today, but maybe one day, in the future, Arkhosia would know the vengeance of House Targaryen.

But, for now? Live another day, and regroup. "... Very well. Perhaps we can come to an... arrangement. Let us talk."

* * *

**NEW FIC TIME! **

**Yes, so, in this universe, the kingdom of the north, was replaced by the Empire/ Kingdom of Arkhosia. And yes, the History of Westeros will be different. **

**As for the dragonborn, think of them as slightly better Klingons, still isolationist and kind of racist, but hold honor to a very high standard. Th kingdom is mainly comprised of Dragonborn, kobolds, and... other scaly races.**

**As for their territories, there is one specific difference: There is no wall, and the dragonborn conquered the land that was supposed to be Beyond the wall. **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: the Beginning

** 277 AC**

**The Exiled**

Everything was dry.

It was dry, and everything was hot and burning and everything hurt. Then, at night, everything got so cold.

It hurt to move, and it hurt to walk upon the sands, even through the remains of his boots.

He was thirsty. He was so thirsty.

He was unsure how long he had been wandering, or even where he was meant to go. All he knew was that he could not afford to stop. To stop meant to collapse, and to collapse meant to die. He would not die. He did not want to die.

The sun was so bright. Why did it have to be so bright? It was being mean. The sun was being a bastard bitch.

He was so thirsty. Also hungry, but mostly thirsty.

He had run out of water... how long ago?

His feet were hurting. His skin itched and burned from the sun.

The sun. How ironic. The sun was his family's symbol. At least, it was supposed to be. But, if so, why was it trying to kill him? It wasn't fair.

He licked his lips, and they felt as dry and hard as lizard skin.

His head hurt.

He was so thirsty.

Anyeone else would have given up.

But he would not give up. He could not. He would survive, and he would return home. The first thing that he would do would be to feast on a whole bushel blood oranges. Then... then he would spend a year under water, somehow.

...

...

... He did not want to be here. He wanted to be submerged in cold water and wine and honeyed milk, with the feel of a good man and woman under him. It wasn't his fault. It had not been his fault that that fucking wound had festered. That woman, she had wanted him, and he had wanted her. He had known who she was, but, he was never one to deny himself pleasure. It was not his people's way. It was not his fault she had been so loud. She had been such a screamer. It was not his fault that the old man had heard them.

It was not his fault the old man had been so adamant about challenging him to a duel. It had only meant to be to first blood. It was not his fault it turned out differently.

He had won, fair and square. It was not his fault that the wound had turned sour, and that the old man had died. His sister had not wanted him to leave, but his brother had made him leave. Everyone thought he had poisoned his weapon. They called him names, but he thought they still loved him.

It had not been his fault.

It was not his fault.

It was not his fault.

He wanted to go home.

Mostly, he just wanted to be in the shade, drinking water.

Where exactly was he now?

He was thirsty.

So thirsty. So god's damned fucking thirsty.

He had run out of water a while back, and there were no cacti in sight.

He just wanted to rest.

Just rest.

Would that truly be so bad, to rest?

What was wrong with wanting to rest?

No.

He kept moving forward.

In the distance, the mountains loomed large and red.

He was so thirsty.

The sun was so bright.

Somehow, he knew that he did not have long left.

At some point he had stopped walking, and he was on his knees. The sand was so hot. But, he had gotten used to it.

Then, something caught his eyes.

Wait... was that?

Was he going mad?

It was a man and woman, and they were walking up to him.

The man and woman were both completely naked, and hairless, save for the heads. They were beautiful and perfect. Their skin gleamed like brass, and their eyes shone like copper. Small Smiles graced their lips as they looked over him.

Were they real?

Could they slake his thirst?

They looked down on him, and they both kept smiling as they knelt by his side.

He wanted to smile back, but he was just so tired, and everything hurt so much.

Huh... he thought he had been kneeling. Why was he now face down in the sand?

Oh, right. He was just so tired.

Everything hurt.

He knew nothing more, as everything got dark.

Finally... some shade.

...

...

...He was so thirsty.

...

... It was not his fault.

Not his fault...

With that, Oberyn lost all consciouness.

* * *

**281**

**The Knight**

The fighter studied her opponent carefully as they circled one another. He was big, like most dragonborn, his puce scales dully glinting in the sunlight. While she herself was not small by any strech of imagination, he still had a least a head over her, as well as at least two stone in bulk and muscle.

All round them, their fellow soldiers watched the bout, some cheering her on, and others cheering her opponent on.

She held a mace and shield, he wielded two large axes, blunted for training, of course.

With a mighty bellow and roar, her opponent surged forward.

One axe blocked by her shield, and the other bashed aside by her mace, just enough for her to jump up and bash her hemet against his draconic skull that sent hm reeling, leaving him wide upon fos a smashing mace to his armored chest which sent him careening to the ground.

Some cheered, others good-naturally booed.

It was her seventh straight victory, a lucky and holy number.

With a bellowing laugh, her downed opponent held up his hand. "A most excellent bout! Most excellent!"

As she helped him up, the roaring voice of their Saergent suddenly echoed out through the courtyard. "ALRIGHT, YOU MISERABLE HATCHLINGS! Fall in!"

As one, everyone in the courtyard stood to attention in regimented lines and rows. Their Seargent, a squat but solid dragonborn, walked up and down the rows, eyeing them all with a critical eye. "Pitiably passing, hatchlings. To call these ranks would be too kind for scum such as you! I can only hope that tomorrow, you all try to be better in time for the ceremony. Now, fall out and report to the barracks and then to the mess halls!"

At that, the discipline relaxed as all made their way to the barracks for mess.

The barracks were large buildings crafted from carved wood and stone and steel.

As Brienne settled on her bunk and began to unstrap her practice padding, she fingered the dragon's head amulet at her neck.

Tomorrow would be perhaps the greatest day of her life.

A hearty slap on her back smashed her out of her thoughts. "Well done, Brienne! Never thought I would see Bharash fall so hard like that!"

A smile graced Brienne's face as he friends approached her. Nala, Balasar, Akra, Rhogar, and her earlier opponent, Bharash. Akra had been the one to slap her on the back.

It was a bit strange; in the Six Kingdoms, they would mock and jeer at her, deriding her as a freak of nature. Here, aside form her lack of scales, no-one really looked upon her desire to be a warrior as even slightly odd. Sure, there had been some derision for her, a pink-skin, wanting to join the Templars of Arkhosia.

But, thankfully, Medrash's recommendation had carried her far. For the past ten years, she had bled, trained, and fought with her fellow recruits, showing them taht she was just a strgon as any strixiki, any dragonborn.

"Come, my friends," Bharash bellowed. "Let us get something to eat!

They all quickly made their way to the mess, and gathered paltes of hasted meat, fowl, hot bread, carrots, vegetables, and falgons of hearty mead. "So, Brienne," Rhogar said over a mouthful of roast meat, "Hows about after the ceremony, we all take a few celebratory rides upon Blazewing?"

Brienne shook her head with a chuckle. "And I've told you Rho, for at least a thousand times, that unless absolutely necessary, I have no desire to go up in the iar like that. As a Westerosi, I prefer to leave that to the Blackfyres and Lannisters. I'm happy on the ground."

"Bah, suit yourself."

A light tug on her sleeve then drew her attention down to her side, where Ixan was waiting with an expression on her reptilian face that was at once kindly, and irritated. "Your armor is all prepared for the ceremony tomorrow, _Baka_ Brienne. I hope that you will find it to be more than satisfactory."

Brienne inclined her head. "Thank you, Ixan. I am sure that it will be exemplary."

Ixan grunted. "You better."

Nala chuckled, kindly humor alight in her golden eyes. "To think, that, ten years ago, we were all eager recruits, waiting at the front gates, hoping that the gods would be kind enough to us to not let us fail. Now, here we are! Among good friends, and with good food and company!"

"Aye, I'll drink to that!" Balasar declared, before taking a long pull from his flagon, excess drink running down his ebony scales.

"Methinks you would drink to anything, Bal," Akra said with a grin.

Balasar laughed at the jape. "Then, in that case, I propose a toast; to Brienne, the solvent that holds our group together, and who could kick the living shit out of us with one ahnd tied behind her back. To our _Barb_, Brienne!"

They all raised their flagons.

Through it all, Brienne smiled, and even felt a slight tear at her eye.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tomorrow, she would truly be a knight!

* * *

**A/N: Read, review, enjoy! **

**Apologies for the short length. **


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